


Lethe and Let Die

by yoinkitsaj



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Carlos Dies, Cecil is Mostly Human, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Bad At Tagging, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POC Cecil, So that's a thing, Trans Cecil Palmer, Transphobia, Young Cecil, but not for long, hes from India, im writing as i go, uuuuh the parents suck, very confusing for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21820954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoinkitsaj/pseuds/yoinkitsaj
Summary: Carlos wakes up in bed, heavily wounded with a spiny and venomous cat on his chest. But who is the handsome man standing over him? And why does Carlos know he should remember him?BIG OL TRIGGER WARNING FOR HOMOPHOBIA AND TRANSPHOBIA!!! as a trans queer with a strained relationship with their parents, I wanted to tell this story through Cecil and Carlos but I recognize that that can be triggering!!
Relationships: Abby & Cecil Palmer, Carlos & Cecil Palmer, Carlos/Cecil Palmer, Earl Harlan/Cecil Palmer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	1. Stay

**Author's Note:**

> sup losers I forgot how fun it is to write so catch me out here updating constantly. anyway here's what I have so far uwu

"I got you, you're gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be okay."  
Carlos's eyes fluttered open slowly, a delayed reaction to the chemical catalyst of the familiar voice. But with eyes fully open, the bewildered man felt just as unconscious as he had a moment ago. He smiled vaguely at the waiting face hovering above him and glanced frantically around the room, hoping to find a reminder of who the other man was.  
The walls were white, but not bare: they were plastered with photos of himself, he could recognize that much, and the same smiling and narrow faced man above him. There were plants placed intermittently, a mix of greens and blues and the blood red of roses he had bought yesterday. Was it yesterday? It felt like years, eons ago, and just a few seconds all at once. The municipally approved blood stone circle lay in its typical corner and a pet bed lay cattycorner. Carlos's wandering eyes fell to his chest where the owner of the pillow lay purring. Everything seemed to be in order.  
The strange man laughed slightly, pushing a hand nervously through his own dark curls.  
"Yeah, Koshekh hasn't left you alone these past few days. He's never stopped floating but the moment it happened--" Carlos hovered around that word the same way the cat his counterpart was describing had hovered in the air. What was it? He should know this, shouldn't he? "He just fell out of the air and started clawing at my office door. That's how I knew something was amiss."  
Carlos looked up to study, really study the other man's face. It was narrow, framed by dark curls the color of the bitter coffee Carlos could remember he loved. His skin looked as though someone had poured a second cup for a compatriot, with a splash of creamer this time. His narrow nose had a bump that became apparent when he turned to kiss Carlos's forehead, and his slightly crooked teeth revealed themselves as he pulled away grinning.  
"I'm so glad to have you back, love," He continued. "You can't imagine how distressing these past few days have been."  
Carlos was pretty sure he could imagine it, given that he was experiencing that same distress now. A motion drew Carlos's wandering eyes to the man's forehead, where a third eye tattooed on in a deep magenta blinked warily. He had seen, heard, experienced weirder. But it still shook Carlos to the core, the pang of emptiness that comes from knowing you should know something and not recognizing it.  
The other man stopped his incessant babbliing for a moment. "How are you, darling? How do you feel?"  
Carlos sat up slowly. He smacked his lips once, twice, swallowed with some intense effort. His throat was remarkably dry and his voice felt locked away from disuse. He cleared his throat, an avalanche of bloodstone boulders that brought back memories but none of the right ones.  
"Tired." He didn't recognize the voice that came out, growly and deep. He could tell the other man didn't quite know it either by the soft furrowing of his well-groomed eyebrows and the flight of his lips downward. Carlos cleared his throat again and tried once more. "Very tired," he repeated in a voice that felt much more like his own. He raised his arms over his head, wincing slightly as the stiffness in his back. He moved to crawl out of bed, forcing the cat off of his chest. It ran off with its long, spiny tail high in the air. Carlos could never stand being down for long, but the other man pushed him back down with a giggle.  
"For someone as intelligent as you, you'd think you could tell when your legs are broken."  
Carlos looked down at his legs. They were set in two stark white casts, and though he was aware of the tight, borderline claustrophobic pressure, he didn't feel any pain.  
"Morphine," the man murmured. He must have seen the quizzical look in Carlos's eyes. The IV in his periferal vision he hadn't noticed before confirmed the man's words. Carlos frowned. He hated this feeling of not knowing where he belonged or what had happened to him. This, too, must have been apparent on his face, because the man placed a warm, lithe hand on his chest. "Don't think too hard, you'll strain your brain, too." He thought for a moment, a caricature of raised brows and bitten lip. The room swayed. Carlos felt his chest grow hot where the hand was. "Maybe a concussion already counts as a strained brain," the man deliberated, but Carlos wasn't listening. He placed his own hairy hands atop the man's, marvelling at the size difference. "Stay." Carlos found himself whispering as he felt himself drift off on a wave of medication. "Please." The last thing he saw before his eyes forced themselves closed was the man curling up next to him, placing Carlos's head atop his lap and stroking his graying hair.


	2. Selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A memory full of memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a short one, I haven't had any free time. I want to start writing more often though!!!!! 
> 
> if you're concerned about What Is Going On, I'm setting this up with a current chapter, then a flashback, then a current one again, so you'll eventually find out what happened it'll just be hella frustrating :))))))))
> 
> THERE IS INTERNALIZED AND EXTERNAL HOMO AND TRANSPHOBIA IN THIS CHAPTER, AS WELL AS SOME SHITTY PARENTING!! I wouldn't say this chapter is necessary to understand the rest of the work so feel free to skip!!

Cecil's sister had always told him that nothing good happened after three in the morning. That night, full of champagne bubbles and toasts and loved ones and giggles that passed in a case, that night that he fell into bed with the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, ties curled in fingers and hands in hair and tentacles everywhere, that night of pure bliss found in the wee hours of dawn, he had stopped believing it. But now, Cecil decided, maybe she was right. Because it was 4:30 AM, Cecil's arms were long since asleep, and he was still holding Carlos's lifeless head on the banks of a newly formed river.  
That night, his tears dripped down and mingled with the inky water, ruffling his somber reflection. Neither of them were alive now, the people he had loved most, and goddamnit, why did life have to be so unfair? Carlos's deep brown curls were matted, wet, lifeless. His face was stony and gray and his hands were cold. His usual lab coat just for Mondays (because Mondays need a pick me up and sometimes that comes in the form of an outfit), was torn, a shred on his flannel shirt exposing deep wounds to his chest. And his legs, his legs, the ones that wrapped Cecil close and held him in place and snuggled up against him in the dead of night, they stuck out at odd angles and Cecil could see bone and oh god oh god oh god. Carlos, beautiful and straight-laced and oh so perfectly imperfect, he couldn't die this way. Why did he have to be so damn… so damn inquisitive all the damn time? Cecil swiped hot tears away from his eyes. They could have been safe at home, could have let the past lie in the past but no, Carlos and his damn morals had to investigate and try to save the day.  
Once, in one of their many fights, She had called Cecil selfish. He had known their relationship was odd, strained, not that of a typical mother and child. But that night, as she sobbed over his long lost locks, she murmured low in Hindi. Over and over, a phrase she had never bothered to teach him (though he had no interest in learning his mother's narive tongue if it only meant added insults), she murmured. Later, after the tears were dry and apologies were flatly uttered, he looked up the word. Selfish.  
The phrase had made it's reprise a few years later when Cecil came home with his first boyfriend. Earl almost had to stoop to fit through the doorway, to lower himself to her so that the stern Indian immigrant could continue to rule her home with an iron fist. She played nice, smiling when appropriate and nodding in reply. She used her best English and her best china, and put the flowers Earl had brought her in her most expensive vase, the one Pita had brought her roses in every Friday. And the moment Earl stooped back through the doorway, she began to berate Cecil. "The family has just begun to accept you as a man, and now you must also be—" She had trailed off after that, not knowing the appropriate English word. It didn't matter. Cecil could fill in the blanks. Disappointment. Coward. But above all— Selfish.  
As long as Cecil had known him, Carlos could never be described as selfish. He was always putting others first, putting Cecil first, and placing himself firmly in last place. But just for once, as he strikes sopping curls away from his lifeless head, Cecil found himself wishing that Carlos could be what Cecil had always been.  
Maybe it would have saved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> questions, comments, concerns?? let me know!!!! please!!!!!!!!!!! I thrive on constructive criticism!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> questions, comments, or concerns? leave it below, I love criticism :-)


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